


The Rat Master (And the Angel Who Loves Him)

by almaasi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affectionate Crowley, Animal Transformation, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale's Bookshop, Crack, Crowley's Rat Army, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Illustrated, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Other, Romance, Softie Crowley, inevitably inspired by 'Ratatouille' and 'The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents', pining aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: In the Good Omens script book, Crowley commands an army of somewhat-friendly rats. This is a detail that was cut from the show but not from their lives. Here's the story of how Crowley utterly adores his ever-growing family of tiny, squishy fur babies, and Aziraphale would quite like them out of his bookshop please. Unless they deter customers... or provide an excuse for Crowley to cuddle him. In which case they can stay.





	The Rat Master (And the Angel Who Loves Him)

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, a good use for all my Britishisms (and rat appreciation).
> 
> **Warnings:** A couple of swears.
> 
> Beta'd by [Katie](https://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/)!

Some people might bring home a box of abandoned kittens, intending to nurture them until kind and responsible owners could be found. Others might return home with a lost dog, or a wounded bird.

But that was people. A demon arrived at a bookshop which wasn’t actually his home, deposited thirteen live city rats out of his jacket pockets and onto the nearest table, and expected his angel friend to act like that was reasonable.

“NO!”

There were not enough subsequent exclamation marks grammatically permitted in the English language to punctuate exactly how vehement Aziraphale’s protest was. The rats had already spilled over the sides of the desk and had disappeared into dark corners of the bookshop.

“Aw, come on, angel, they just need a place to stay.”

“You expect them to _stay_? _Here_?!”

“My place doesn’t have any hidey-holes,” Crowley explained, somehow oblivious to the fact Aziraphale’s eyebrows were slowly merging with his hairline. “Or food. And I’m barely even around, anyhow, so they wouldn’t have any supervision.”

“You— I’m sorry, did I hear that right? Not only do you want me to turn my bookshop into a hotel for dirty, disease-infested rodents, but you want me to _supervise_? And do what? Tell them stories? Teach them magic tricks?”

“Oh, they’d probably love that,” Crowley said with a flick of his fingers. “Go for it.”

Aziraphale made several breathless, aghast noises, which a nearby rat squeaked at.

“There, they like you already,” Crowley smiled, tousling his shoulder-length hair with a hand. “Thanks, angel, I owe you one,” he added, patting Aziraphale on the arm as he swept past to leave.

Aziraphale stood alone in his shop, seeing no rats, but hearing a faint scuffling from different points around the room. “I dare say you do,” he uttered, darkly.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

The bookshop was, in fact, one big hidey-hole. Aziraphale went three days without seeing a single rat. In some respects that made their presence tolerable – out of sight, out of mind, as humans often said – but deep down he knew the rats were there, and were doing whatever it was they did.

He soon realised _exactly_ what it was they did.

He showed Crowley what they did.

Crowley had the good sense to look ashamed. “Sorry,” he said, chin down.

“I swear to you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, with a lightheaded tenseness around his smile that looked a little terrifying, “if I find one more book in this state, I will not be held responsible for what happens to your little pets.”

“Pets? They’re not pets. They’re cunning tools, acutely trained for the purposes of dispersing chaos.”

“Yet more reasons they should not be, and never should have been allowed in my shop!”

Crowley gulped, slowly, snake eyes a-shifting behind his sunglasses. He made eye contact with a curious rat, who’d popped out of a bookshelf to peer down at them.

Aziraphale looked where Crowley was looking. “Come to gloat, have you? Listen here, you nasty little beast.” A threatening finger jabbed in the rat’s direction. “I’ve never purposefully maimed anything, not once in nearly six thousand years. But if you or any of your friends chew up a _single_ other book... well, there’s always a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

A second and third rat appeared, twitchy whiskered noses craning around corners, a curious round ear appearing behind a book.

“Better not, guys,” Crowley said quietly. And thus it was so: the rats would not chew books. For good measure, Crowley inspired them to, perhaps, if required, pop _out_side for a minute to do their business.

A rat sneezed at them.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale told the rat, finding it on a shelf and glaring at it. “If you have the plague I’d suggest you don’t share it with the rest of us.”

“They don’t have the plague,” Crowley said, while realising he wasn’t sure. “They don’t have anything. No fleas. They’re not even dirty. Squeaky-clean as rubber ducks.”

Nineteen rats were suddenly two shades lighter.

Aziraphale looked somewhat satisfied, but still annoyed. “How long do you intend to let them stay here, Crowley?”

“Well, I’ll need to borrow them every so often. Breaking into telephone towers and storming into fast food chains to scare the customers, that sort of thing. Always good to have them on hand.”

“So are we talking... days? Weeks?”

“Oh...” Crowley’s intentions put guilt on his face.

“_Years_?” Aziraphale stared at Crowley in horror. “You must be joking.”

“They’ll hardly bother you, I promise,” Crowley pleaded. “Just— Just do this one thing for me. angel, I’ll do anything in return. I’ll owe you a favour. A really big favour.”

Aziraphale felt an urge to scowl, but that urge faded when he saw Crowley’s hands clasped as if in prayer, lower lip pouting, eyes shiny behind those dark lenses. Aziraphale softened. “Oh... _al_right. If I really must.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” Crowley breathed, head back, hands still together. “You wouldn’t believe how much they hated my place. They banded together and held an intervention. Either I found them a warm, cosy, hidey-hole home or they were all quitting. And what am I without my teeny weeny wittle rat army?” He’d picked up a rat and cradled it in his cupped palms. “Nothing at all, that’s what. Nothing at all!”

Aziraphale didn’t know where the baby-talk came from, but to his surprise, the rat seemed charmed. It nuzzled its nose into Crowley’s fingers, and chittered happily as he thumbed behind its ears.

Crowley lifted the rat to his face and gave its head a big smooch, then put it gently on a shelf.

Aziraphale stared.

Crowley caught his eye and blushed. “Maintaining worker relations,” he rasped, before clearing his throat. “‘S all. Very important for demons. Vital cog in the mechanics of unstoppable evil.”

“I see.”

A bashful smirk twitched on the corner of Crowley’s lips. “So. Dinner, angel?”

“Ah... yes...” Aziraphale looked nervously towards the rats as they turned tail and went to hide. He hadn’t left the shop alone since they’d arrived. But if they wouldn’t eat his books, then... “I suppose I could spare a few hours. Sushi?”

“Would be my pleasure,” Crowley said, skin wrinkling beside his sunglasses as he smiled.

“Dare I say, we could even pick up a smackerel for your small friends,” Aziraphale supposed, leaving the aisle and going to switch his cardigan for his coat. “They must be hungry. Perhaps not sushi, but—”

“Oh, they’ll eat sushi,” Crowley said. “They’ll eat anything. Anything except books.”

Aziraphale looked back at the shop as he prepared to leave. “I hope you’re right.”

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

On a Tuesday, Aziraphale opened the top cupboard in his kitchenette to get some cocoa, only to find his cocoa mix had been purloined through a hole chewed in the bottom of the box. He miracled warm milk into cocoa instead, which was not the same at all.

On a Sunday, he discovered he was out of biscuits, when he was absolutely sure he bought some on Friday.

On a Wednesday, a sandwich disappeared between bites. At that point he’d had just about enough.

“Right! All of you! Listen up!” Aziraphale swept his hands towards him, summoning his bookshop’s residents. He heard a skittering and a pattering – and then he came over with chills as thirty-two rats came swarming towards him, one of whom still carried his sandwich. Aziraphale shrieked and hopped backwards, trying to retract from the carpet and float away from them.

He calmed down after a moment. All the rats looked at him expectantly.

He breathed out, stepped forward, tugged on his waistcoat hem, and said, “Yes. Hello. Good to see you. Although I could’ve sworn there were less of you before— Anyhow. Er. I’d first like to thank you for not eating my books. Very good of you all. Much appreciated. Now, see, there’s just one... tiiiny, infinitesimal detail I thought we ought to work out together. I’ve noticed you’ve been – a’hm – _borrowing_ my food. I know I’ve gone to some lengths to make sure you’re all fed and watered... but I do suspect, now I see all of you together, why a chicken parmesan or a plate of prawn salad might not have been quite enough to go around.”

The rats peered at him with their shiny black eyes. Not one of them blinked. An ear was scratched, a pink paw was licked.

“So...” Aziraphale sighed. “Starting today,” he bolstered himself up, and announced, “I’d like to do a daily headcount, if you wouldn’t mind. So then I know how much to order at the Ritz.”

The rats stared back impassively.

Aziraphale raised a finger. “One,” he said, pointing at the sandwich thief. “Two. Three.”

He got to fourteen before he lost count. They all looked identical. And the slightest movement in the crowd confused his eyes.

He sighed. He went to the phone and called Crowley.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

“Count them?” Crowley took off his sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them by one metal arm into his scarf knot. “Can’t you just – _know_ how many there are?”

“I thought I did,” Aziraphale complained, stuffing the last of a replacement sandwich into his mouth to comfort himself. He swallowed before adding, “There were definitely thirteen when they arrived. And now there’s at least twice that.”

Crowley sighed, rolling up his jacket sleeves. “Well, then. Let’s get to it. Ranks!”

There came a loud _kshmshhph!_

And suddenly the rats were in neat lines between two bookshelves – well, as neat as they could be, with long tails lounging here and there, and that buzzing rodent energy that never quite settled down.

“Right. One by one, up on the desk. Single file.”

The rats began to march.

“Oh, I say,” Aziraphale said, quietly impressed. “They are excellently trained, aren’t they? All your doing?”

“Just a talent of mine,” Crowley said carelessly, picking up the first rat and inspecting it. “You!” he exclaimed, looking at it. “You aren’t one of mine.”

The rat went “_Heep_!”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Hm.” He put the rat down and it scurried off. “One.”

“You’re letting it go?”

“It knows the rules. No plague; no books; bathroom’s outside. Can’t be too much trouble, one extra, can it?”

“But— Butbut—”

“Two,” Crowley said. “Three.”

Aziraphale fumbled for a notebook and began a quick tally. His pencil nib scratched the page over and over, crossing every fourth line with a fifth.

“Thirty-six,” Crowley said at last. He looked around for any strays.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said carefully—

“I know, I know, you didn’t sign up for this many rats. But how could you turn away such _adooorable_ things?” He held up the last rat in both hands, tucked under his chin, head tilted so his cheek pressed it. “You _are_ an angel, aren’t you? You love all of God’s creatures equally. Even the bastards.” Crowley looked softly into the rat’s eyes, then nosed forward and nuzzled it with the tip of his nose. “You’d be homeless if it weren’t for Aziraphale. And you don’t want to be homeless, do you? No-no-no.”

He pursed his lips and did something odd and squishy to his voice as he talked. If Aziraphale weren’t so proud of him for caring so much, he might’ve been disgusted.

Aziraphale noticed how the rat closed its eyes as Crowley kissed it. In all the time Aziraphale had shared space with the rats, he’d never seen even one eyelid fall shut. They trusted Crowley, but didn’t trust _him_.

“I think you’d better come back tomorrow,” Aziraphale advised. “For another counting.”

“Shall I had?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, eyes on Aziraphale as he lowered the rat. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

Aziraphale gave him a smile. “Dinner out tonight?”

Crowley smiled back, eyes shining gold. “I’ll pick you up.”

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

Crowley came along just before lunchtime every day for a week. Thirty-six rats became thirty-eight overnight, a number which remained steady for a few days, at which time Crowley and Aziraphale both privately began to wonder what the point was of a daily count. But neither sought to cancel their next meeting, because an easy excuse to see each other was a good excuse, and if they had lunch together it was practically effortless to invite each other out for dinner in the evening.

After a number of weeks, the parade of rats along the desk became less of a head-count and more of a conveyor belt, numbers uttered in monotone. Aziraphale didn’t bother to reach for his notebook.

Two more weeks and the rats barely bothered to show up.

Another week, and nobody did any counting at all.

Crowley still came for lunch, though.

And he and Aziraphale still went out for dinner.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

ELEVEN YEARS LATER (Pre-Apocalyptic 2018)

“Pasta primavera with a sauteed tomato dressing, butter-olive garnish...” Aziraphale put a room-temperature bowl down on the carpet. “Cucumber sushi, sans the ginger slices, I know you hate those. I had them save this for me specially.” He put down a plate decorated with fifteen perfect sushi rolls. “Bowl of uncooked garden peas.” He put down the peas.

Seventy-four rats came by in a squabbling hurry, snatching their dinner and making off with it. The good thing was that Aziraphale never needed to worry about stained carpets or leftover food, because rats didn’t often leave leftovers. But he made sure he purposefully offered a smidgen less food than they needed, just in case. He’d read they lived longer if they ate less, and after losing so many of them to old age, he was firmly on the side of feeding them less.

Crowley looked up from where he was perched against the desk, long legs crossed at the ankle. “That seemed like more rats than you had yesterday.”

“Yes, I believe Sixty-Six had her babies at last,” Aziraphale said. “I hadn’t seen her for a few days. She looks thinner.”

“Baby rats?” Crowley stood up, bright-eyed.

Aziraphale sighed. “Wait until they’ve eaten dinner. Then you can meet them.”

Crowley looked thoroughly excited. “It’s been so long. We ought to do a head-count. Baby count. Updated rat catalogue.”

“A rat-alogue, if you will,” Aziraphale said cheerfully.

Crowley laughed. “Ratalogue,” he uttered, with a note of pride.

They poured out some wine, and touched their glasses together before drinking. They sat in silence on a single armchair, Aziraphale in the seat, Crowley perched on the arm with his shoes tucked under Aziraphale’s thigh.

“They must be done by now,” Aziraphale said, checking his pocket watch. “Said grace, eaten, done the washing up. Surely.”

Crowley tossed back the last of his wine, then got up, two fingers in his mouth to whistle. “Ranks!” he called.

The bookshop was quiet.

“Ranks,” Crowley said again, insulted. “You twelfth-generation lot, you have no idea what’s what.”

“Please, Crowley, allow me,” Aziraphale said, one hand on Crowley’s chest. “Ahem! My dears, if you’d be so kind to step out for just a tick, my friend and I would like to count you, if you don’t mind the inconvenience terribly.”

“Oh, like that’s gonna work,” Crowley sneered.

His sneer fell into a blank stare as, rat-by-rat, the carpet in the middle of the shop began to darken with furry lumps, now round-tummied and sated.

“The problem is,” Aziraphale said curtly, “you’re not _around_ enough. They hardly know you.”

“I’m here every day!”

“But if you lived here I’m sure they’d be more receptive to the sound of your voice. Wouldn’t you? You sweet things.”

“What good is an army who you have to sweet-talk?” Crowley uttered in distaste. “Whose rat army _is_ this? Not mine.”

“Oh, tosh,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley’s arm a squeeze. “Come along, now, you count them out. Single file, my lovelies! That’s the ticket. Up on the desk.”

“Don’t want to,” Crowley grumped, arms folded. “These aren’t my rats.”

“Just because you’ve never led these particular animals out on an expedition of evil, doesn’t mean they’re divorced from that special connection you have. Try talking to them, Crowley. Come on. This one. Say hello.”

The first brown rat sat back on its haunches, looking up at Crowley hopefully.

Crowley glared.

The rat stretched up, one paw swiping like it wanted to climb onto something.

Crowley’s scowl wobbled.

Aziraphale saw, and started to smile. He gave his friend the smallest nudge. “Pick her up, why don’t you. That’s it.”

Crowley cradled the rat in careful hands, as familiar with her plump, furry shape as if he’d held her every day of her life. “Hello,” he said quietly.

The rat sniffed him, then reached to bite his fingernail.

“Oi!”

“Oh, let me,” Azirphale said, taking the rat off Crowley. “You silly thing.” He let the rat go and it scampered off in high jumps, climbing a bookshelf in staggered leaps and watching from on high.

“The absolute cheek,” Crowley said, staring at it.

“Two,” Aziraphale urged, directing Crowley to the second rat.

Crowley held it, stared at it. Let it go.

They made it to twenty before Crowley’s resistance disintegrated, and his eyes were ashine and his hips swayed gently, each rat now anointed with a fond “Mwah!”

“Like riding a bicycle,” Aziraphale said.

“What, kissing rats?”

“Being affectionate,” Aziraphale replied. “I knew you still had it in you.”

Crowley kissed rat after rat – and not just because he’d started and it would be rude to stop – but because he looked at each rat, decided he loved it, and just couldn’t help himself.

He got so caught up in kissing his rat babies that Aziraphale started to feel left out. “How many is that again,” he’d asked, two minutes ago, looking up with a furrowed brow. “Really, I think I’ve lost count— Crowley, are you listening—?”

He wasn’t. He was kissing rats.

Aziraphale went to pour himself some more wine, feeling silly for feeling jealous.

Angels didn’t get jealous. Not of anything. Especially not of seventy-four, maybe eighty rats. Especially not because they were being systematically smooched on the head by a demon.

But, then again, there’d been times in recent memory where Aziraphale had felt like a very bad angel indeed. This wasn’t helping matters.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

“What’s so enticing to you about rats, anyway?” Aziraphale asked, while cutting a slice of cake for him and Crowley each. He served them on saucers, and handed Crowley his slice with a folded napkin tucked underneath. “Why do you command a rat army and not, say, a snake army? You are a snake, after all.”

“Remind me the last time you saw a hundred wild snakes in central London,” Crowley said, cutting his cake with a teaspoon.

“Touche,” Aziraphale said, patting his lips with his napkin. “Although you haven’t been causing too much mischief, these days, it seems.”

“Look, when I need mischief, I’ll make some,” Crowley said. “The Apocalypse is getting a little close for comfort. Always good to have an army in reserve.”

“Yes, you’ve said.”

A sly, happy smile curled up Crowley’s lips as his eyes found a rat across the room. “Even if they’ve been completely corrupted by your angelic nonsense.”

Aziraphale felt a tad smug. “They’re rather handy for keeping customers away from the shop, too.”

“Oh-ho, so _that’s_ why you’ve put up with them so long,” Crowley exclaimed.

“It’s part of it, yes,” Aziraphale said testily. “But there _are_ some things I don’t need a reason to keep around, Crowley. Maybe they’re good company. Maybe they make me smile. Maybe, under everything, despite their nature, despite their – their _purpose_ – they happen to have grown to be quite close friends of mine.”

Crowley looked at him slowly, that smile never leaving his face.

“Anyway, I’m only saying,” Aziraphale blushed, “just because they keep my books safe for me, that’s not the only reason I might care about them.”

Crowley kept smiling.

“They can be quite mean, sometimes, you know,” Aziraphale said, with a fresh breath. “But not so mean that I stop caring.”

Crowley ate some cake, head down, but that smile was still there.

“One might even say that I...” Aziraphale gulped. “Well, I suppose I do— Care... a lot. About them. The rats, that is. Nobod— Nothing else. Obviously.”

Crowley met his eyes. Oh, that smile. “I’m certain they care about you too, angel. You know... if you happened to ask. They care about you one heckuvva lot.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aziraphale said softly. He wore a little smile of his own now.

He looked down and dug into his cake, feeling a warmth in his chest. His eyes rose to Crowley’s. They smiled together, then glanced away quickly.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

Rats had a habit of leaving sinking ships. They sensed danger coming and scarpered.

Two days before the Antichrist’s eleventh birthday, the rats were inexplicably gone from the shop. Aziraphale and Crowley were both beside themselves with quiet, internal despair, not only for the loss of their rats, but the knowledge of what their leaving meant. They shared a few drinks, then a few more, leaving a bowl of green peas untouched between them.

Bad things were on their way.

Bad things came.

The bookshop burned.

Then, bad things... were undone.

The shop was reset back to the way it had been before.

But the rats didn’t come back.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

Finally looking like himself again, Crowley trudged from the elevator and down the hall to his flat. The door opened at his approach – not with a sensor, or a retina scan, or any kind of technology. It just decided it would have a better day if it opened.

Crowley entered, and found three hundred brown rats sitting around on his concrete floor, waiting for him to say hello.

“Hello,” he said, thinly. He started to sweat.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

“Do you know that feeling,” Crowley said, holding a green pea in his fingertips and looking at it carefully, “when you really appreciate... let’s say, strudel. Apple strudel. You’re a big fan of strudel. Could enjoy it every day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“I can’t say I’m not... unfamiliar with that feeling,” Aziraphale smiled, sitting himself down beside Crowley. Crowley already perched on the armchair, his shoes now warmed by Aziraphale’s right hand.

“Yup,” Crowley said. “And you’re good friends with someone who likes strudel too. He didn’t always like strudel, but he came around. He even reawakened an old strudel passion in you when it was waning, perhaps.”

“Okay?”

“And then one day, you lose all your strudel. Can’t remember the recipes. Nobody sells it any more. All the ingredients are in short supply.”

“I remember the wartime, dear, you needn’t remind me.”

“No, but— Then the strudel comes back. Same old strudel. But there’s too much strudel. Can you imagine that? Too much strudel?”

“Can’t say I can.”

“I’m telling you, there’s such a thing. One is fine. A dozen strudels, not much to worry about. Could maybe appreciate a hundred strudels, a bit overwhelming, but—”

“Dare I ask what you’re actually referring to?”

“There’s three hundred rats in my flat, angel. Three hundred.”

“That’s... an awful lot of rats.”

“I locked them in and left,” Crowley said quietly.

“You did _what_?!”

“They scared me! There were too many of them!”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale uttered, getting up to pace, all cross now. “You can’t just lock animals in a barren room with no food and water, Crowley.”

“They’ll be fine, they’re always fine.”

“They’ll eat your plants.”

“Thh—- Shhhhit, we have to get them out of there!” Crowley took Aziraphale’s arm and shook it. “Quick, where do we take them?”

“You could always bring them back here?”

“You won’t see the books for rats, Aziraphale. You won’t have a bookshop any more, it’ll be a rat zoo. Rats here! Rats there! Rats everywhere!”

“Well, if that’s what it takes...?” Aziraphale straightened. “So be it. They’re family. They’re _our_ family. They belong here.”

Crowley stared for a while. There was something very pleasant happening in his chest, and something awful happening in his eyeballs. His eyeballs leaked down his face. “Hm,” he said, as his mouth trembled. “Th’s... Tha’s really kind of you,” he said thickly.

Aziraphale gave him a sly, affectionate smile, head turned. “Come on, you old silly. Let’s bring your babies home.”

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

Crowley looked at Aziraphale very oddly as they drove there, and even more oddly as they drove back, when there was a rat on either shoulder.

Then again, Crowley had been giving Aziraphale odd looks since the moment they met.

And these particular looks weren’t all that odd, come to think of it.

Love wasn’t odd.

Nor was it new, or unfamiliar.

It was just sure of itself, now. Nothing held it captive. Crowley didn’t hide the way he was looking. And, for whatever reason, Aziraphale didn’t hide the way he looked back.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

“Two-hundred-and-forty! Mwah. Two-hundred-and-forty-one! Mwah!”

Aziraphale tapped his pencil impatiently on his notebook, tallying each number when Crowley announced it. The line of rats was long. So long it wound through the shop, and Aziraphale couldn’t see the end of it.

“Seventy-eight! Mwah! Seventy-nine – ooh, you are a dumpy one, aren’t you? Aww. Mwah. And an extra kiss for being so cute. Mwah.” Crowley beamed. “I just love the fat ones. Eighty! Mwah.”

Aziraphale looked longingly at the end of the line, which crept closer and closer.

Soon... _Soon_...

“Two-hundred-and-eighty-two! Mwah!”

Aziraphale tossed down his notebook, took a deep breath, and shut his eyes.

“Two-hundred-and-eighty-four! Mwah. Any more? Any more? Oh, well. That’s all, I suppose. Any chance of a spot of lunch, angel?”

Crowley turned around. The shop was empty, besides a few disappearing tails. “Hello?”

He looked back and forth, then up. “Angel? You still here?”

He turned at a squeak from the desk. Crowley was surprised to discover a plump, curly-haired white rat sitting on the desk, paws on its tummy. This one was nearly twice the size of the others – a domestic rat, not a wild one – and it had a pair of familiar grey eyes.

Crowley was dumbfounded for a moment.

Then the rat waggled its paws, wanting to go up.

Crowley hesitated. But then he reached out and scooped up the rat in his hands. He looked at it.

The rat looked back, grateful Crowley wouldn’t see him blush under the fur.

“Have to say,” Crowley murmured, a hint of a smile on his lips, “the shape does suit you, angel.”

Aziraphale ducked an inch, ears twitching.

Crowley breathed out. “Er. There wasn’t any particular reason you’ve... taken this form, was there?”

Aziraphale shrugged, then looked down, swirling a paw nervously around a fur curl on his middle.

“Then... I suppose...” Crowley’s voice softened, his eyes going dewy behind his dark lenses, “I ought to treat you like any other rat, hadn’t I? What a... a handsome devil you are.” Crowley hesitated. But when Aziraphale shut his eyes and leaned in, Crowley relaxed and pushed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s fuzzy head. “Mwah.”

Aziraphale chittered happily, curling up on Crowley’s palms, paws holding his tail, forehead buried against warm skin.

Crowley purred. “In all my years, it has to be known, angel, I’ve never met a rat quite as revoltingly _sweet_ as you.”

Aziraphale snuffled in delight.

Crowley was unable to bear the cuteness. “Oh, come here.” He pressed his nose to the fluffy white ball and smooched and smooched as noisily as he dared, then tipped his head to the side, laughing when Aziraphale clung to his finger and hugged it.

“Come with me,” Crowley said invitingly, leaving the desk, helping Aziraphale up onto his shoulder as they went deeper into the bookshop. “Nearly three hundred current rats, eleven years of past rats, and not one of them was ever big enough to be a proper _shoulder_ rat.”

Aziraphale bobbed along by his ear, enjoying the ride.

“I recall,” Crowley said, patting Aziraphale’s armchair, then sitting in it sideways, long legs tossed over the arm, “I once said I owed you a favour. A big favour. And I was thinking... what if I repaid that debt now?”

Aziraphale crawled down Crowley’s reclined chest, moving to sit in his hands. They gazed at each other.

“What would you say,” Crowley began, “if I... I don’t know. Did something for you. Just for you.”

Aziraphale curled around in his hands and plopped down, looking expectant.

Crowley smiled. He slid one hand free, reaching to lift his sunglasses away – then reached for the nearest book. He looked at the cover. Then he cracked the spine gently, and smoothed a hand down its first page. The book had previously been a historical account of something a monk did, once.

It was now a picture book about gardening.

“Indoor Gardening For Relaxation,” Crowley read. “Chapter one.”

Aziraphale marched up Crowley’s chest and slammed a paw on his lips.

“Mm?” Crowley’s snake eyes crossed to see Aziraphale. Once his lower lip was freed, it stung where rat claws had poked him. “What, you don’t like it? I hate reading, it’s meant to be a friendly gesture. I’ll put the book back the way it was when I’m done, I promise.”

Aziraphale looked more annoyed.

“What?” Crowley pressed. “What’s the problem?”

Aziraphale squeaked loudly.

Crowley could understand rats. And he could understand angels. What he couldn’t understand was an angel shaped like a rat. Because it kind of sounded like Aziraphale had yelled, “Move in with me, you _fucking_ idiot!”

And that definitely wasn’t what he’d said.

“What?” Crowley said, tentatively.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes so hard his nose tipped back, then he burst back into his usual form, lying front-down atop Crowley, zig-zagged over the armchair, looking flustered and upset. “The Apocalypse is _over_, Crowley! If Heaven and Hell are really out of the picture – what’s stopping us? Truly, I mean.” He softened, cradling a warm, tender hand against Crowley’s temple, adoration and longing darkening his eyes and slanting his plush lips. Whispering, he asked again... “What’s stopping us?”

Crowley let the book slide off his chest, but it landed softly on a nearby table instead of the floor.

“Mmm—” he said. “Move in. With you.”

Aziraphale sighed, smiling, lowering his gaze to Crowley’s lips. Then he lowered his entire torso, and put a kiss on Crowley’s burning forehead. “Move in with your rats, if that’s easier. I simply live here too, coincidentally.”

“Ah...” Crowley held Aziraphale’s waist, then met his eyes. “I could be here more often, that is a good point,” Crowley admitted, tilting his head into the armrest, swirling the back of his hair. “Train those little bastards up.”

Aziraphale smiled. “If you did, I’d consider your debt paid. After all... you owed me in the first place because you left me to care for them alone. Of course, if you were here...?”

Crowley reached up to tug on Aziraphale’s bow tie. “Alright, angel. You win. I’ll... move in. With my rats.”

Aziraphale sighed, content. He lay forward to rest against Crowley’s chest, eyes shut, cheek against his beating heart.

Crowley wrapped an arm over his back. “Did you really swear at me?”

Aziraphale flushed hot. “Nope.”

“Hm. I thought not.”

They both smiled, each grateful for the other’s lie.

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

“Indoor Gardening for Relaxation,” Crowley read.

Aziraphale was curled up in his tartan-blanketed bed, lying on his side, cheek on his pillowed hands. He gazed lovingly at his roommate, who sat in an armchair with his feet kicked up on the bed, mere inches from his own bed, which was draped in black silks, with a red velvet pillowcase.

“Chapter One: Why Gardening is Good For the Health.” Crowley read that and snorted. He glanced up at the twenty or so houseplants who now dwarfed their bedroom, turning the wainscoted room into a jungle. “That’ll be the day. These lot, bringing me inner peace. Imagine that.”

“Shut up and read the book, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, without malice.

Crowley’s eyes dipped to the page, then back up. There was a young rat on Aziraphale’s bed.

Aziraphale noticed, and moved his toes under the sheets to nudge the rat. “Back downstairs, please, little one. This room’s off-limits for rats.”

The rat looked pleadingly at Crowley.

Crowley sighed.

Then he sighed again, and got up to scoop up the rat. He gave it a kiss on the head, then deposited it outside the bedroom door. It bounded off happily, having gotten what it had come for.

Aziraphale was sitting up when Crowley came back in, door shut behind him. “They do love you an awful lot, don’t they?” Aziraphale noted.

Crowley sat slowly, eyes on his friend.

“You are lovable,” Aziraphale added, lying back down. “So that explains it.”

Crowley felt his ears burn as he returned to the book, paging through to the pictures.

“I _also_ love you an awful lot,” Aziraphale said, poking at the stitching on his pillow. “As it happens.”

Crowley tried not to blush, but blushed anyway. “Awful,” he repeated, hoarsely.

“Terrible,” Aziraphale agreed.

“A monumental mistake.”

“Oh, the biggest. Alas, too late now, my dear.”

“Much too late,” Crowley agreed. “Especially because I lllluuhy’t’hh.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

“Chapter One,” Crowley said desperately. Then he didn’t say anything for a while. Then he _squeaked_, helplessly, releasing a noise that had been caught in his throat for six thousand years.

Aziraphale’s lips parted.

Then, drawing a breath, he admitted, “My Rattus-Rattus translation could use some oil, but,” his eyes crinkled, “it was very sweet of you to tell me that, Crowley.”

“Meant it,” Crowley whispered.

In his warmest voice, Aziraphale replied, “I know you did.”

**ʕ>^ᴥ^<ʔ**

There weren’t three hundred rats forever. Unlike regular rats, the rats in Crowley’s army were not all related by blood, so having them live as one colony was somewhat unnatural. So, they came and they went. They found mates and went off together. They found a nice place next door and decided they liked chip-shop floor crumbs better than green peas and fancy things from fancy restaurants. Satisfied with their mortal existences, some went off to join their ancestors in Rat Heaven, and compared bookshop memories. The rest just quit being an army and left to do their own thing, because there wasn’t much use for an army when the Apocalypse was over and their demonic Rat Master didn’t much like causing mischief any more, because it bothered his angel friend... and because he wasn’t that bad of a person, as it turned out.

One year later, there were thirteen happy rats in the bookshop, the sort of rats who liked rich food, cuddles, and making strangers scream.

Just enough rats for everyone to be comfortable.

Crowley and Aziraphale came back from their nightly dates with leftovers from the Ritz, or sushi, or strudel. And some green peas, because some traditions ought to remain, even once everything else had changed.

Crowley counted out the rats, one by one, each and every afternoon. He gifted them all a kiss on the head.

And one more kiss for the fluffy white one. Crowley loved all his rats with every beat of his not-so-dark heart.

But that one, that special one, he was definitely his favourite.

**{the end}******

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ [reblog fic](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/186923368120/the-rat-master-and-the-angel-who-loves-him)  
♥ [reblog art](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/186923575295/in-the-good-omens-script-book-crowley-commands-an)
> 
> Earlier this week I posted [**another Crowley/Aziraphale fic**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116639) and I said there were more Good Omens fics in my drafts. Well... there's even more now. Three more and counting. [**Subscribe here**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi) if you want updates when those stories go up~ (There's also a Destiel fic to go up soon!)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! And for all the kind words about how my writing style fits this pairing perfectly. You're right and you should say it. c:  
Elmie x


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